


The Dirty Talk Thing Again

by quicksparrows



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte and Xander have a frank conversation about her little, uh, priority problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dirty Talk Thing Again

.

 

 

 

"A word, Charlotte," he says, low and stern.

Charlotte sits up in his bed like the delicate, sensual being she is, all languid movements. She stretches her arms above her head so she has an excuse to thrust her tits out. She sees his eyes flicker there but no, they don't linger at all. He just waits for her to acknowledge him verbally. (He gets so crabby when she doesn't.) 

"Yes, milord?" she says.

Xander isn't fond of bullshitting, so she spares him the excessive fluttering of eyelashes, softens the syrupyness of the voice she'd normally use. It comes out teasing instead, but only just as much as his ego can handle, because he'll be cross with her otherwise. Aren't men funny?

He moves to the foot of the bed, where he can stand over her. He's fresh from the bath, hair still damp and his skin slick in a way that makes her want to slide against every inch of his body — he's such a priss, though, never content to lie there feeling filthy and sticky. If he wasn't seriously delicious (and the fucking Crown Prince of Nohr) it'd drive her nuts to see him rush off while she's practically still warm. Why doesn't he bask in all her hard work, huh? Does he not _appreciate_ her? It takes a lot of practice to do what thing with her jaw, you know!

"I want to talk to you about what we just did."

Charlotte squeals.

"Oh, are we doing the dirty talk thing again?" she says.

He smiles, a little sardonic, and it suits him — he is good at stern, at _cruel,_ even if he is soft in ways he'd never admit. Charlotte sits up a little straighter, posing herself just so, but he doesn't acknowledge her this time. He stands over the foot of his bed imperiously, six feet of hard muscle that she wants to drag her tongue all over. (Again.)

"Charlotte," he warns. "I'm being serious."

"You're always serious, Lord Xander," she replies, less coquettish, though she still tilts her head. He has grown immune to her charms, but even then he has yet to admit to _liking_ them — she is, after all, the kind of girl men want. "I know that last one got a little sloppy, but hey, don't you like it that way sometimes?"

He shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed with her.

"It was wonderful," he says. "But my complaint is not with the undeniable prowess of your mouth."

Charlotte shifts closer to him, pushes herself up a little higher on her hands. The sheets pool in her lap but she is naked otherwise, pale and blonde against his dark sheets. She imagine she looks like, really, really appealing right at this very moment, especially with the tousled hair. He certainly looks at her like she does. But what's his deal?

"Was it the finger thing? I know you hate it now, I promise to never, ever put my finger there again," she says, a little more soberly. She takes complaints seriously.

"I am glad we agree on that subject, but no, Charlotte, it's—"

"Was it too much when I did the come-hither thing on your nuts?" she tries, a little worried.

Xander gives her such a plain look.

"If you'd let me explain," he says, but she barrels on, hands curling into fists in the sheets.

"Aww, jeez, don't tell me it's because I kept saying how big you are and it didn't seem genuine? I meant it, you know, you really do have a huge cock, I thought it'd seriously break my jaw or something, but guys—"

" _Charlotte,_ " he says, a touch louder.

"—Yes?"

"I take no issue with you as a lover," he says. "But I do take issue with your... insistence on my pleasure over yours."

Her heart stops for a second and then revives like a fucking Phoenix. _Oh._ That's _it?_ She's got it. Charlotte blinks — flutter flutter — and she puts a hand on his thigh, nice and high.

"Oh, milord, don't you worry even a bitty bit about me, I'm _covered_ , I just want to make you happy!" she says. She moves right over into his lap, one hand going to his cock. "See, I'll prove it to you, you must be ready to go again—"

Xander grasps her wrist and sighs, somewhat impatiently.

"My dear," he says, stern but not unkind. "If making me happy is what you're after then you must allow me my fun in return."

She blinks.

"What for?"

Xander narrows his eyes at her.

"Don't be coy with me," he says. "What do you mean, _what for?_ "

"I mean—" Charlotte huffs. She's not sure what she means — it comes as a blank, a big ol' question mark. Xander scrutinizes her and she stares back, rapidly growing frustrated. "What do _you_ mean, what do _I_ mean? _What for?_ "

He scoffs, incredulous.

"Charlotte," he says. "Surely you haven't foregone your own pleasure for so long that you've forgotten?"

_Oh._ He means _that._ Charlotte heaves a sigh, high and haughty. "Well, YEAH, but no offence, men are so bad at it. It's like always the worst rhythm, and they paw at you like you're a block of wood and they grab at your tits like they aren't attached to the rest of you."

Xander raises an eyebrow.

"Really," he says, sceptically.

"Yeah, and like—" she starts counting on her fingers "—gross uncut nails, weird man odor, maybe ten seconds of decent action tops. It's just not worth the effort."

"And this is what _men_ offer you," Xander says.

"Um, yeah, most of them, and when that's the best you're getting, why bother?" She smiles, nice and big, just because she doesn't want his stupid ego to take it personally. "So it's okay, really! I take care of myself."

Xander sits up a little straighter.

"Is that what you do after?" he asks.

"Yeah usually," she says, flippantly. "While you bathe. I mean, that's why you go, right?"

Xander sighs, deep and tired, which makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.

"So if I am understanding this correctly," he says. "You single-mindedly focus on my pleasure because you believe I am some foul-nailed, graceless beast who wouldn't satisfy you anyway? And I am so repulsed that I must bathe immediately, not because we are prone to bedding just before I have meetings in the war room?"

Charlotte keeps smiling at him, even though he's caught her in a bold-faced insult, and she fumbles to find a way to spin it around so no, milord, _noooo_ , not at _all_ , it's just— oh, forget it, she's caught, _she has no reason._

So she lets out a sudden cry and flops over, all pretence of dignity gone. She buries her face into his lap and wails: "No! I want you on every inch of me! I really do!"

She feels his hand on her back, gentler than usual.

"Charlotte," he says, exasperated, and he strokes her down to the base of her spine. "You are far, far more kindhearted than you let the majority of people know."

Charlotte lifts her head so abruptly her neck cracks. He's watching her with a strange, fond look, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth upturned at one side.

"Really?" she says.

Xander chuckles — actually chuckles.

"What nonsense, that we both want the same thing but you would deny us for the sake of not seeming greedy," he says, and his hand slides around her bottom in a way that makes her squirm.

"I really didn't mean it like _that,_ " she says, "but if it would make milord happy, I would be honoured to have him pleasure me."

She sits up again, all smiles once more, and she leans so close to him that the tip of her nose brushes his. Xander sighs and palms his way up her hips, and then right down her thighs. He seems annoyed by her, but tolerably so — Charlotte knows just how far she can push him.

"Be kinder to yourself," he admonishes her. "And kinder to me, the man who has opened his heart to you, above any other woman! Gods, what an insult."

Xander sighs. Charlotte sighs too, more dreamily, and she drapes her arms around his neck. He would scowl if she wasn't gloriously naked in his lap, bed-warmed and soft-skinned.

"I didn't mean it, milord, not at all," she croons, and she runs her fingers through his hair so fondly. "I would never doubt you... I only meant to challenge you to do what no other man could do for me."

She says this with a pout to her lips, and she watches his gaze move to her mouth, half-lidded and cool. He lifts his chin a touch when she moves even further to straddle him.

"Do you know how dangerous it is to challenge me, Charlotte?" he asks, low and dangerous. It's the kind of tone that gets her wet — there's a security in men determined to prove themselves to her.

"No milord," she says, sweetly. "But if it's as intense as the look you gave me when I touched your _derrière_ , I'm excited to see what you'll do to me."

And, as Xander is wont to do, he pushes her off him, right over onto the bed, his hand following between her shoulder blades and pressing her down just to make a point. That's his kind of playful, more like sparring than anything. She squeals giddily, grinning as he bends himself over her to order in her ear:

"Get up on your hands and knees and I'll show you."

Charlotte smirks at him over her shoulder. It's too easy to fall into that sugary voice again, delighted and excited: "Oh, milord... I've been so rude, suggesting such nasty things about you...!"

She wastes no time moving for him, ass in the air, spine sloped low so she can lean on her elbows. He rolls his eyes at her but _smirks._

"You and your dirty talk," he murmurs, his breath hot on her spine as he moves to the back of her. "You'll get no mercy for that from me, with a mouth like that."

And as he presses his mouth to her from behind, no mercy it is.

 

 

￼


End file.
